


Everyone is an idiot at 16

by thetwistedcelestials



Series: Touch [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetwistedcelestials/pseuds/thetwistedcelestials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After discovering the identity of the Alpha, Derek seeks refuge in the only place he knows; unfortunately, Stiles doesn't react well to the intrusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone is an idiot at 16

Derek jumped up onto the window sill, sliding it open; a ball slammed into his chest as soon as he put a foot inside.

“Derek, get the hell out of my room!”

Derek growled at the teen; he could feel the bruise forming and healing. But Stiles was already launching another ball, lacrosse stick in hand. Derek caught the ball, tempted to throw it back at the teen. He dropped it instead. “What the hell are you doing, Stiles?”

Stiles glared at the werewolf, readying another ball to throw. “What am I doing? What am I doing? What the hell are you doing?” the teen shouted, launching another ball. He yelled in frustration when Derek caught the ball again. “Why did you come back here? You’re all buddy-buddy with your uncle now! Go shack up with him!” 

Derek could feel his teeth elongating, nails lengthening into claws as his uncle invaded his thoughts: his sister’s murder, the entire night’s fiasco. This time, he threw the ball back at the teen, barely missing. “Do you think I had a choice?” he managed to grind out. “Do you have any idea what I’m going through right now? My Uncle killed my sister. He’s been lying to me this entire time.” The pressure thrumming in his head invaded his entire body. He had to move.

Pacing, he tried to keep his voice low. “Do you know what it was like? Seeing him standing there? Telling me…no, justifying what he had done? Justifying Laura’s death? Do you know what it’s like, knowing I need him to take out the hunters? To take out Kate?”

He squeezed his fist, sinking the claws into his palm, thinking about the murderess. He tried to ground himself with the pain, ignoring the blood dripping down his hands. “He’s the last of my family. The last…and killing him will give me my revenge. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To think about losing the last of your family? Killing him?” he roars. “Can you even imagine it?”

He can feel his lungs heaving, panic and anger and desperation and hate and pain and fear and everything swirling in his mind. He gulped for air, trying to find his center, trying to get control of himself. Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter killed Laura. The darkness threatened to close in on him, that sentence bludgeoning his consciousness. Uncle Peter. Who always hated taking a life without need. Laura, his rock, his Alpha, his one reason to get up in the morning.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA STILES? DO YOU? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO LOSE SOMEONE?” The last may have ended as a wordless roar, but Derek was beyond ccaring who heard or what he sounded like, just wanting to hit something, to run away, to be released. He just wanted it all to end, for his sister to come back, for his Alpha to step in and tell him that it was time for the kids to go play while the adults made the decisions.

He turned away from the boy, facing the window, trying to breathe in the cool night air, trying to clear his head. He took great gulping breaths of fresh air, not caring that they sounded altogether too much like sobs. Just a few hours ago, he had been frustrated with Stiles for using him as eye candy and was set to take out the Alpha. A few hours ago, his decisions were clear, simple. A few hours ago, he didn’t know the identity of Laura’s killer and it didn’t matter. A few hours ago, he knew he had the tentative support of two boys. He stared at the night sky, his blood a white roaring noise in his ears. A few hours ago, he wasn’t contemplating killing his uncle. And he hadn’t had any doubts he would be able to find his revenge and move on, leaving behind all of these memories and…

…a hand touched his shoulder.

The werewolf whirled around, claws out and ready to strike; they stopped within inches of the teen’s throat. Eyes wide, the teen tried to swallow, eyes twitching when the action brushed his throat even closer to the deadly weapons. Derek was panting, just as frozen, both their arms raised. The teen reeked of fear, his heart racing, and his eyes locked on the claws. Swallowing, his own heart still pounding with the urge to strike out, Derek forced himself to lower his arm. He forced himself to take a step back, to leave; coming here had been a mistake. He was dangerous, murderous, right now. But before he could reach the window, Stiles put his hand back on the werewolf’s shoulder. At Derek’s warning growl, Stiles’ heart raced even faster, but Derek was surprised the teen didn’t let it show on his face, didn’t move his hand.

“What?” Derek growled. “Aren’t you going to pelt me with more balls? Defend your best friend against the big bad wolf?”

Stiles swallowed again and shrugged in response, eyes darting across Derek’s face, his hand unmoving. Licking his lips, reeking nervousness, he tried to formulate a response. “I…I’m sorry. About that.” He cleared his throat. “And I, uh, I didn’t say thank you. For saving me today.”

Derek remained silent, watching the teen. Staring into the brown irises, trying to use the teen’s racing heartbeat and the familiar scent to ground himself, distract himself from thinking. Tried to get control again, while he watched Stiles slowly raised another hand, telegraphing his moves clearly, to place it on Derek’s other shoulder.

“Do you, ah, do you want a hug?”

Derek snarled at the teen, thrusting himself towards the teen’s jugular. Was Stiles really so stupid as to insult him? Now?

Stiles flinched back but didn’t let go, his eyes earnest despite to the fear. Derek stopped himself with his fangs inches from the teen’s face. He could feel the teen’s breath ghosting across his face, touched with the scent of peppermint. Stiles watched carefully as the werewolf felt the teen’s arms slowly pulling them closer.

“Stiles…” Derek growled, unsure of whether he meant the growl to be a warning or something else. His hesitation allowed the younger boy to pull them together, their chests awkwardly pressed against one another. Derek raised his arms, not sure whether he should pull the teen closer or push him away, not even sure whether he wanted to push the teen away.

“I, uh, I don’t know what to say,” the teen mumbled into Derek’s shoulder. “But, I’ve been doing some research about wolves and how they’re pretty tactile. And I know Scott’s been a lot more touchy lately and I know you lost your pack.” Derek felt himself growl at that and Stiles quickly continued. “And I know it’s not much, but maybe I could kind of be here for now. I know what it’s like to lose someone. My mom…well…it…it helped a little when someone gave me a hug.”

Derek wasn’t sure when his arms had found their way around the teen or when his head sank to rest on the teen’s or when it had become so hard to let go, but he found that he really, really couldn’t. He was gulping for breath again. Numbness filled his mind and he didn’t even know if he was thinking anymore. He felt like he was floating, like if Stiles were to let him go he was just going to float away, like the only thing that was real was the pressure of Stiles’ hands moving against his back. Maybe everything else was just a nightmare.

“…Stiles…” Vaguely, Derek was aware of how much that sounded like begging. Like a whimper. Of how thick his voice felt, how he was trying to talk around a giant lump in his throat. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump. “Stiles…please don’t…don’t let go.”  
He felt Stiles nodding against his shoulder, hugging Derek tighter. “I…I won’t.”

\--

Derek had been relieved when, the next morning, Stiles hadn’t said anything about the night before. He had just untangled himself from Derek and the sheets, grumbling as he hit the off button on his alarm clock and picked-up his backpack. The teen made sure Derek knew where the bathroom was and told him he could help himself to food in the kitchen while getting dressed for school. Derek hadn’t been surprised that Stiles paused awkwardly before leaving the room, but Derek had just nodded and the teen headed out the door.

Derek had been surprised, when Stiles had offered to share his bed again that night.

The teen had come home and started working on homework. He had briefly gone downstairs, coming back with several large sandwiches, silently offering a few to Derek. They hadn’t spoken much. Stiles worked on his homework and Derek…Derek was mostly pretending to read some of the texts Stiles had on werewolves. He had made a few notes for Stiles, but mostly his mind was thinking about his uncle, the hunters, and the teen in front of him. He was proving to be more than just an annoyance, but he wasn’t sure exactly what Stiles was.

When Stiles had finally decided to call it quits for the night, going to brush his teeth, Derek pulled some pillows and blankets from a hall closet he had found earlier. When Stiles walked back into the room, he just raised his eyebrows at the pile on the floor before heading to bed.

He slipped under the covers and then turned to Derek. “You coming in or what?” he had asked, lifting the blankets.

Derek had blinked in response, waving a hand at the blankets on the floor. The eye roll and snort he had gotten in response were surprisingly expected.

“Stop being such a sour wolf and just admit you like cuddling with me. Now come on. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Derek had hesitated, but the look Stiles gave him brooked no nonsense. So Derek found himself wrapped in Stiles’ arms, trying not to think about thunderstorms and little brothers and wondering how different Stiles was from a little boy who should have been the same age.

Despite that, Stiles was right. It did feel…good to hold someone.

\--

The morning followed the same routine as the last. Stiles just untangled himself from Derek, complaining about school without mentioning the night before. He left the werewolf stewing, wondering just what the teen was up to. Suspicions filled his mind. Why is he doing this? What does he want? Why does he put up with any of it?

The werewolf decided to confront the teen when he got home. He was going to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, he scoured Stiles’ notes and research, determined to see how much the teen knew.

\--

“Hey Dad…who isn’t home. Of course.” Derek heard Stiles mutter to himself. The werewolf decided to wait for the teen to finish before confronting him. When he heard the sounds of the teen working in the kitchen, he decided to go downstairs to talk with Stiles.

When he found him, it looked like the kitchen had exploded. Food had been pulled out of the cupboards and fridge, covering half of the counter space. In the middle of it, Stiles was chopping vegetables, two pots simmering behind him. He didn’t look up when Derek walked over to the stove to check on the simmering pots.

“Could you add the pasta to the bigger pot?”

Derek complied silently, his mind still focused on teasing out the teen’s intentions. He had spent all day wondering as he perused the teen’s research materials. The more he thought about it, the danger the teen had put himself in, the way he disregarded the threats and the rough treatment, the more frustrated and anxious Derek felt about the teen’s intentions. It just didn’t make sense.  
Stiles added some spices and vegetables to the second pot, which was looking like a sauce. He hummed to himself as he worked, engrossed in the process. While the pasta cooked and the sauce simmered, Stiles tossed together a salad and handed Derek a loaf of bread to slice and toast. When they finished, Stiles packed some away into large Tupperware containers.

“I’m going to go eat with my dad. Help yourself.”

Derek nodded, still silently fuming over the teen’s intentions as Stiles headed out the door. The werewolf served himself and ate. He would use the time to figure out more of what the teen had figured out about werewolves; the teen had found quite a bit already and Derek wanted to see how the teen was might be planning to manipulate the information.

\--

Stiles didn’t come home until late. He barely even jumped when he flicked on the light in his room to see Derek glaring at him.

“Hey. Is being creepy a werewolf thing? ‘cause Scott is starting to do that too.”

Derek decided enough was enough. “Why are you doing this?”

Stiles blinked at him wearily. “Doing…what? Being sarcastic? Because that’s kind of my thing.”

Derek growled in frustration. “You know what I mean. Why? What are you getting out of this?”

“Well, you know, I’ve always enjoyed death threats so…”

Derek cut him off by pushing him against the wall.

“Oh and being shoved against walls? So awesome.”

“Don’t mess with me, Stilinski! What. Do you. Want?”

Stiles struggled weakly against the werewolf, settling on glaring at him. “Dude, what’s your problem? Has it occurred to you, that maybe, I’m just helping a friend out? You know what friends are, right? They do that for each other. Help. Now let me go.”

Derek bared his fangs. “Stop lying!”

“I’m not lying! Can’t you do that weird thing with my heartbeat or whatever to tell that? Some werewolf you are.”

Growling, Derek had to admit that he hadn’t heard a lie. “Why are you being so…nice? You don’t even trust me.”

“No, you’re right. I don’t. And neither does Scott.” Stiles scrubbed his face in frustration. “I don’t know, okay? You’re hurting. And I know what that’s like. And, yeah, you can be a scary jerk. But that doesn’t mean deserve that. Plus you helped keep Scott from killing anyone, so I guess we owe you. Even if we don’t trust you. Completely.”

Derek pushed Stiles even harder. “Don’t deserve it? Really? And what do you know?”  
“I know that the fire wasn’t an accident.” He didn’t stop when Derek growled. “I know that the hunters were involved; the police records suggest as much. And I know however did start the fires probably bought the inspectors off.”

“Did you know that the fire was my fault? That I was the one that told the hunters about my family? Don’t you think I deserve it now?” Derek’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth. It felt like Stiles’ words crawled under Derek’s skin, made him itch and ache. It was something about the horrible knowing look in his eyes.

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“WHAT?”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“No!”

“Did you know what you were doing?”

“Of course not!”

“Would you change it if you could?”

“Yes. I would give anything to change it.”  
Stiles shrugged. “Then no, I still don’t think you deserve feeling this way. Because it wasn’t your fault.”

Derek blinked in confusion. Somehow, the conversation was getting away from him. He stared at the teen, pressed against the wall. What is this kid’s problem?

Stiles sighed. “Look, you were 16. You were an idiot. Everyone is an idiot at 16; trust me, I’m in high school, I’m painfully aware of that. Whatever happened, however they tricked you, it wasn’t your fault. So, no, you don’t deserve to feel this way. Okay? So that’s why I’m doing this. And because, in some weird way, we’re in this together, whether you want to admit it or not. You need this. And, maybe I do too. Now shut up and let’s go to bed. I’m tired.”

Derek finally released the teen. His heart rate hadn’t changed at all through the entire exchange. Somehow, Stiles had been sincere about all of it. Derek sighed, scrubbing his face in confusion. What was that teen thinking? Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek and pulled him to bed.

“Stop thinking. Go to sleep.”

Derek sighed again. “…thanks.”

Stiles shrugged, sleepily responding, “Hey, what’s a pack for?”

…damn perceptive teenager.


End file.
